


You Felt Your Sins Crawling On Your Back

by phxnyx



Category: 13 Reasons Why (TV)
Genre: But it's going to get better, Clay POV, Clay is depressed, Depression, Freeform, Gen, Graphic Suicide Attempt, Guilt, Nobody's OK, Suicide, Themes of suicide, Tony Being Tony, Tony POV, Tony feels guilty too, Triggers, and everybody's worried about him, parents being parents, somewhat happy ending
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-03
Updated: 2018-02-03
Packaged: 2019-03-13 03:38:02
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,322
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13561968
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/phxnyx/pseuds/phxnyx
Summary: Tony knew something was off with Clay lately, but this—he didn’t expect it. Nobody did. There was no indication that something like this was going to happen.None of them learned. Tony didn’t fucking learn. And one day, Clay was absent from school for the first time in thirteen months.So Tony went to check on him.It’s a good thing he did.--In which Clay tries to kill himself. His parents and Tony have to deal with the aftermath, but things just have to get worse before they can get better.





	You Felt Your Sins Crawling On Your Back

 

It’s like a nightmare all over again but this time, _this time_ , he's arrived after it just happened.

He’s holding Clay’s damaged body together with his hands. The warm bath water, overflowing over the rim of the tub, seeps into his clothes; its darkening red hue seemingly _threatening_ to destroy the one friend he cares the most about. It’s all so surreal that he doesn’t know what to say into the cellphone he dialed into moments earlier, but even in his shock he knows he has to say _something_.

He can’t breathe, and the words are lodged in his throat. He finally pushes and they spill out, chopped up and frantic. “My friend—He tried to kill himself—slit his wrists—!“ A wet hiccup slips out from the back of his throat.

Tony doesn’t want to believe that this is happening again.

He gives the address: Clay Jensen’s own home address.

—

In Tony’s mind, the difference between him experiencing a ‘crime scene’ the _first time_ versus _whatever Hell he’s experiencing right now_  was that Hannah was already cold and gone when he saw her. This, however, is much worse, because his hands, _God_ , they’re covered in his best friend’s warm, sticky blood—Clay’s own life force, actively slipping through his fingers. He wants to retch and gag; the metallic smell of the damn blood is suffocating, but no, he pushes it to the back of his mind, because _goddamn it_ , Clay Jensen will die if he doesn't hold himself together.

He feels like this will permanently scar him. The _first time_ was bad enough to do so, and it wasn't nearly as bad as this.

How awful was he to not have fucking known—How could he, no, _all of them_ , let this happen again?

 —

The parents arrive minutes before the ambulance comes and he does his best to keep his composure. He passes Clay’s limp body over to his dad with shaking fingers. Mrs. Jensen is wailing in agony while Mr. Jensen just sits there, holding his son in his lap, and _cries;_ It’s a sad sight, the three of them—they’re huddled before the slumped-over form in the bathroom: They're joined together in the small, dark, and claustrophobic room.

If this were a nightmare, it would be the perfect time for him to wake up. Tony wants to wake up.

However, he doesn’t.

—

Tony had been having a sinking feeling in his gut for awhile—ever since Clay listened to his own tape. Something about his friend changed then, and ever since it just seemed like the teenager constantly had a heavy weight on his shoulders: the weight of killing the girl he loved.

But this wasn’t unusual. It affected the others the same way, too. But months after the tapes were released, months of acceptance and resignation—even after Tony tried to be there for him, Clay decides to do this, to follow in the footsteps of Hannah? 

Alex had also tried, but failed. He was in a coma. But many months had come and gone since then, so everyone expected that to be the last of it.

The school and town understandably were still shaken up after all of the tapes’s secrets had come to light, but things finally seemed to be moving on. They had to, because to put it simply: things like that aren’t meant to be dwelled on forever.

It seemed like Clay was, too. There were some days Tony did worry about him; it’s not like things could get better overnight. Clay seemed to be alright, in fact, he seemed to be back to normal. And sometimes Tony noticed that his friend looked strange when he thought no one was watching him. But it was understandable. However, there was always this dark feeling—like an ominous cloud hovering nearby—an unsettling feeling that lingered at the corners of the room, always out of sight; it followed Clay wherever he happened to be.

Tony had also noticed that Clay was spending more time alone than he ever did before. And the fact that he was suddenly too focused on schoolwork to do anything else.

Tony knew something was off with Clay lately, but _this_ —he didn’t expect it. Nobody did. There was no indication that something like this was going to happen.

None of them learned. Tony didn’t _fucking_ learn. And one day, Clay was absent from school for the first time in thirteen months.

So Tony went to check on him.

It’s a good thing he did.

—

Three months ago, out of the blue, Mr. Jensen had approached him when he came over to study with Clay.

Clay’s father—Matt Jensen—was never the overly talkative type, nor was he the type to waste his breath on unimportant things. Clay took after him in that way; the both of them exude personalities of incredible depth—it takes a lot in order to peel back and extract them from within their layers.

So when Mr. Jensen spoke to him that day, a rarity in itself, Tony was respectful as ever. However, he payed closer attention than usual.

Tony was stopped upon hearing the older man’s voice before he could walk up the stairs leading to Clay’s room. He didn’t notice Matt when he came in. 

“Hi, Tony. Heading up to see Clay?” said the man.

He nodded in response. They both knew that. What other reason would there be?

“Well, I’m glad you’re spending time with him. He only ever stays up in that room of his nowadays. Studying, perhaps. He’s been a lot more studious than before…” the writer mused, trailing off unlike himself.

“Anyways, my wife and I, we’re thinking that he’s still having a hard time with what happened. It’s only natural, of course. But you know how he is. The kid has a terrible habit of suffering in silence. He’s always been that way,” Mr. Jensen explained, but he didn’t elaborate on that last part any further.

“He always pretends to be fine even though it’s obvious he’s not. I think he’s got it in his head that he doesn’t need to tell anyone what’s going on, if there’s something wrong.”

Tony nodded again, in agreement—he knew this well.

“So, if you can… Keep an eye on him, would you?”

Tony responded instantaneously. “Of course.” It’s what he’s been doing this whole time, after all. “He’s my best friend, and I care about him, too.” 

Matt Jensen chuckled, a gleam in his eyes. “You’re a good kid, Tony. Lainie and I—we’re lucky Clay has someone like you. So, you know… Feel free to stay as long as you want. He could use your company.”

And with that, Tony was up the stairs, relieved that he was going to spend some more time with his friend that day. It was all that he or anyone could do, after all.

Apparently, that was not enough. Clay had been suffering more than they realized.

— 

 

Tony folds his hand into his jacket pocket, but he flinches instinctively upon touching an object that he’d completely forgotten about.

Crumpled up hastily, the piece of paper— _the damned thing_ —takes up space in his pocket. Tony refuses to think about the implication, at least not now. He can’t deal with it right now. The world is still an incoherent blur.

 

—

Later, much _much_ later on that evening—when he is finally alone—Tony decides to examine _it._

It’s your standard piece of loose-leaf paper, seemingly ripped out of a notebook, and it’s _infuriatingly innocuous as hell_. It’s a simple piece of _fucking_ _paper;_ paper is meant to be easily discarded and recycled. How can an ordinary item, and something so fucking _casual_ hold the entire weight of something as heavy as a _death wish?_  

Tony doesn’t know why he’s thinking so hard about this. Possibly because how raw he still is. Or maybe, it’s the fact that Hannah spent weeks recording tapes to preserve her memory after her death, and Clay only wanted to leave behind a small sheet of paper. So had Alex, if he’d heard correctly. They’d been too spoiled with the girl’s long-winded explanations and excuses for her death. In reality most people only did this: the final words of their life, summarized in a single sheet of paper. In reality, anything else other than thatwould be abnormal.

Drawn-out goodbyes, like Hannah’s, are simply not done everyday. Hers was an exception. Something that happened only once-in-a-lifetime.

This effectively brings Tony out of his thoughts. It’s too painful. He can’t bring himself to open the note anymore.

—

When he finally does, the abruptness of the letter hurts even more. It’s only a couple sentences long.

_I don’t know what to do anymore. I thought that if I’d shared the truth, I’d move on. I guess not, and I’m sorry._

Clay

—

 

Two days later, Clay wakes up in the hospital bed. Tony makes sure he is there to see it. Everyone is relieved; however a profound somberness encloses the air, quickly sucking the relief out of the room as soon as it arrived. There’s so much to say—so much to address, but everyone knows that it’s not the time or place to vocalize these sentiments.

When Clay opens his eyes, he looks the same as he did before. Possibly worse. Lainie Jensen is quick on her feet to embrace her son, on the verge of tears; yet she treads carefully, knowing how fragile he is. She quietly tells him how glad she is that he’s alive.

Matt is right beside her, silent. His eyes are red and his hair is disheveled, but his presence alone offers support and stability for all of them. 

However, Clay doesn’t react. His face is a little too blank and his eyes are a little too dark, and all he does is stare listlessly at nothing in front of him.

Tony leaves the room to allow the broken-up family mend themselves in peace. Instead, he goes home for the day to see his own. Having one pair of worried parents is enough.

 

—

Tony thinks just how lucky he and Clay are to have loving parents. And how Hannah was, too. As soon as he gets home his mom hugs him, and his dad chastises him in Spanish for not coming home sooner. But Tony knows he understands, because it’s just his dad’s own way of expressing concern.

He goes to his room and lies in bed, knowing that even though nothing’s okay, the world’s at a place right now where he can at least feel alright—because it could be a whole lot worse.

He’s never been as religious as his mom, but he takes a moment to be grateful.

Tony just prays.

—

He prays that one day they can live in a world not haunted, but graced by the living memory of a girl who passed too soon before her time. He prays that the sins of his friends, and himself, will eventually be forgiven.

Most importantly, he prays that Clay, who doesn’t deserve to feel the way he does, will stop blaming himself and feeling guilty for something that wasn’t entirely his fault.

Tony prays harder.

So why can’t he help feeling guilty, too?

—

 

Tony wakes up, trembling.

He could vaguely remember his dream, but he knew it had something to do with blood, blood, a lot of blood; cold, dead bodies and open wounds, hot water on his skin and the feeling of being suffocated—

God.

He would call it a nightmare but it hits a little too close to home. He wants to go see Clay.

The hospital is only three minutes away. He gets ready to go.

Soon enough, Tony finds himself opening the front door and he takes a step outside, walking into the fresh morning air—

—and he nearly bumps into Clay.  _What?_

 

He double-takes.

Clay is standing there, outside of his house. In a fully-covered hospital gown and _socks_ , no less.

The door slams behind Tony. “What the fuck—“

“I couldn’t stand it in there anymore,” interrupts the sudden guest, looking Tony dead in the eyes. Tony can’t help but notice that the other teenager still has that blank, tired stare; his face is perfectly still as usual. “I couldn’t stand it. Being watched by my every move by my parents of all people, as if—and those nurses. Those looks they gave me, all of them: as if they were _pitying_ me, and I just had enough.”

Tony just gawks, feeling paralyzed with shock and worry. He didn’t expect Clay to be here, all of a sudden. “Clay, I—“

“I don’t deserve their pity.” 

Time seems to stand still. Tony, who always has had the right words to comfort his friend, for once doesn’t know what to say.

“I don’t deserve their pity at all. You wanna know why I did it? Because I was selfish. There!” His hands ball into fists. Tony can't help but notice the wide bandages wrapped around his wrists--he thinks about the fresh wounds below them. “I thought I could fix everything, thought I could undo what Hannah had to go through, yet it looks like I couldn’t finish the job.” A brief look of anguish passes through his features, but it soon dissipates, as if Clay is trying to push it down.

“I’m worthless. Completely worthless. I was supposed to love her, so why couldn’t I _save_ her?”

He smiles weakly, face remaining still. “So I don’t deserve anyone’s pity. Hannah never _got_ anyone’s pity. The only time was when it was far too late.” The rest of Clay’s words are unspoken, but they fill the air anyways: _And I was the one too stupid to not figure anything out_. 

Tony, using all of his power, resists his basic instincts; he holds himself back. Instead, he stays still, standing his ground. “You think _you’re_ worthless?” A pause. “So how do you think I feel?”

It’s Clay’s turn to be at a loss for words.

“Clay, do you…Do you know how I felt when I found you there, lying in your own _damn_ blood? Do you know how I felt?” Clay shifts uncomfortably, breaking eye contact.

“I didn’t mean for you to—I didn’t realize—“

“You didn’t realize _what?_ That someone would find you there, eventually? If I hadn’t fucking found you, then… Your parents would have. I swear to God. You think your parents seem on edge now? I know _that_ would’ve affected them a whole lot worse.” 

_You’re goddamn right that you were selfish, Clay_ , Tony thinks. And it’s true. But Tony knows it’s not the right thing to say.

 

“Goddammit, Clay. When I found you there, saw all that damn blood, I thought I’d lost you. That I’d failed you.” Saying these words out loud made it so much more real.

“The only thought I had was that I failed another friend. And in that moment, I truly felt worthless.”

It was like a dam had been broken at last. For the first time in a year, Clay Jensen cries.

Tony gives in to instinct; he walks up to the boy and wraps his arms around him. They stay like that for awhile.

Nothing is okay, and they know that. But it can only get better from here. It has to get better somehow.

Tony knows this is not the end of it—Clay is not healed yet, he'll neither is he. It's going to be hard, but this time he knows what to look for. This time, he really wants to be there for Clay, no matter what. 

—

The next thing Tony does is phone the hospital that Clay was safe with him. It's a disaster. He is informed by the hospital staff that Clay was under no condition to have left—he’s a minor who's supposed to be under suicide watch, and that they are sending someone to pick them up as soon as possible. Tony wonders how Clay managed to even run away. He writes a mental note to ask him later.

Tony finds it incredible how Clay has caused so many problems to make people worry about him in the mere span of seventy-two hours. He muses to himself while the both of them wait for their ride to arrive.

—

Tony is first to break the silence. "Promise me you won't ever do that again."

Tony watches as Clay bites his bottom lip. The moment drags on, and the silence speaks for itself.

This is the part where Clay's supposed to say yes, he promises that he won't do anything like that ever again, swear on his life. In TV or in movies, this would be the part where he says that--but this is real life. He can't promise that he won't do anything ever again. 

He can't say with absolute certainty that one day, feeling desperate, he won't do anything stupid.

He really doesn't want to lie. But for Tony's sake, he will. “I promise.”

Tony sees right through it. "You're lying."

“Yeah.” A quick, truthful response.

“ _Clay_.”

“I can’t.” 

“You _can_.”

There’s an uncomfortable, pregnant pause.

“No. I _can’t_ , Tony.”

Tony has the urge to square up with Clay and force the other teenager to look at him. He just wants to shout in his face, tell him that he’s right, he’s damn _right_ that he’s being selfish, because how the _fuck_ could he be still thinking that even after Tony’s poured his heart and fears out in the open like that, how _could_ he have disregarded everything Tony had said—

He turns to face Clay. At that moment the both of them vaguely notice a white EMS vehicle pulling into the street.

The car stops in front of Tony’s house. Tony knows they have to go, because Clay needs to be back at the hospital as soon as possible, but _he no longer gives a shit_. He wants to deal with this right here, right now.

“Why can’t you, Clay?! Give me _one good reason_ —”

They hear the sound of car doors opening and closing. “Clay!” The sound of Mrs. Jensen’s distraught voice calls out. Clay’s parents are accompanied by a paramedic, and they hastily start to walk over in Tony’s direction.

Tony frowns. All of a sudden, he roughly grabs Clay’s arm—he makes sure to avoid the wrists. Clay yelps. “Ow, man, what the fuck?”

Tony only grips tighter. The adults approach them—they look ready to ask questions.Tony gazes pointedly back at them. “You’re going to have to lock him up,” he says, before they can say or do anything.

Lainie gapes, and Matt just seems confused. Both of them have a concerned look on their faces, and it is blatantly obvious. They must’ve been worried to death when they realized Clay was gone. The paramedic is the one to respond.

“Why? Is there a problem?”

“Yes,” Tony answers. He glances at Clay. “Clay just told me he’s still planning on killing himself. He’s still in danger.”

Clay’s eyes widen ever-so-slightly. “Tony, don’t fucking twist my words. I _didn’t_ say that.”

“Yes you did, Clay. Don’t act like you didn’t.”

“Yeah, that’s _because_ I didn’t!”

 The paramedic interrupts. “Do I need to call for an ambulance?”

Clay’s shaking his head. “No—just no. You’ve got it all wrong. All of you. And I’m not going back to the hospital.”

 

“ _Please_ , Clay,” pleads Lainie Jensen. “Come back to us. We love you so much. Don’t do this,” she breathes out, pain written all over her face. She’s holding on to her husband, who’s standing next to her—his face, mirroring hers—and her knuckles are white, as if she’s squeezing hard against him. If the scene were a painting in a museum, it would be aptly titled _The Parents’ Anguish_.

Clay’s parents—looking so scared, so concerned, and so _hurt—_ is a sight almost too much to bear.

Clay vacant expression bursts open for the second time that morning.

 —

“I’m so useless. So fucking useless,” says Clay.

The paramedic looks tense; he’s ready to reach into his pocket and pull out his phone.

“No, Clay,” says Matt, his voice shaking slightly. He looks older than usual. “You’re not.”

“No—hear me out. I hurt you. All of you, it’s all my fault. Now you have to worry about me. I’m the one making your lives harder.”

“Stop it, Clay.”

 Clay continues. “Tony… When you asked me that question, what I said was the truth. I don’t know if I can promise you anything because… Because I’m so _fucking_ scared.”

The other shoe finally drops. Clay is no longer in control; it all comes rushing out.

“I’m so scared of it hurting again, I’m so scared what will happen I wake up one day, and I’m feeling desperate, and lost, and hopeless, and _empty_ all over again. I don’t know what I’ll do when the thought of Hannah blaming me for fucking up her life becomes too much for me to bear _again_.

“I was supposed to be the one to save her and I couldn’t, because I’m a pathetic excuse for a human being, and I couldn’t do something as simple as _telling her how I feel_. It hurts so much that the world can move on, because it seems like with every day that passes, everybody forgets about her a little bit more; and I wanna forget, too, but at the same time _I don’t want to forget_ , so sometimes it feels so much easier if _everything would just stop_.

“Sometimes, I feel like I just want it all to _stop_.”

Clay takes a moment to catch his breath, seemingly winded by his tirade.

“And if that happens again, and I really think it will—I don’t know what I’ll do. To myself. So I can’t promise you anything. I’m sorry.”

Lainie just bursts out sobbing.

—

 The EMT, whose name happens to be Randy, has visibly softened. This scene is familiar to him; Clay reminds him of his own son.

“Clay, can you tell us if you are at any risk whatsoever —right now, at this very moment?” He makes sure to ask the question delicately.

Clay looks down at his feet. “I’m not…I’m not going to do anything, not right now.”

None of them miss what is being implied.

“Are you at risk in the near future?”

“A part of me… doesn’t know,” he answers honestly. “I just don’t know.”

 

Clay looks up, then glances at his mother, who is still hysterical, then to his father, whose eyes are red once again, almost bloodshot. Finally, he looks at Tony, who has an unreadable, guarded expression, and Clay can’t figure out why; until Clay remembers the fact that _Tony was the one who found him, lying in his own blood and almost dead,_ and it just makes him sick to think about that.

Tony just stares at him back.

 “…But…me, I—I’ve caused my family enough pain. Even if I wanted to, I couldn’t. At least, not anymore—I can’t—“ He wants to say: _Because I can’t do that anymore. Not after seeing them like this. Not after seeing how much it would hurt them._

He’d never been eloquent. Clay tries again, with a different approach.

He addresses them.“Mom, Dad… Tony…

He closes his eyes, not wanting to see their reactions while he speaks. “I don’t know if I can… live for _myself_ right now, if you know what I mean. If I had the choice, I’d end it all, but…Maybe, if I make an effort, I can try, and live for _you_ instead.

“So I’ll do one last selfish thing. I’ll need you to help me.”

Clay keeps his eyes shut. He’s afraid of the answer.

Clay’s father speaks for all of them. “Of course we’ll help you, Clay—of _course_ ,” he chokes out. “All you ever had to do was _ask_.”

—

 

It’s not the best ending ever. But it’s definitely not the worst ending ever, either. Tony knows it has to get better. It won’t be easy, but it will.

 

Because Clay needs their support, just as much as they need him.

 

—

—

—

-

-

-

-

 

-

 

Tony is first to break the silence. "Promise me you won't ever do that again."

Tony watches as Clay bites his bottom lip. The moment drags on, and the silence speaks for itself.

This is the part where Clay's supposed to say yes, he promises that he won't do anything like that ever again, swear on his life. In TV or in movies, this would be the part where he says that—but this is real life. He can't promise that he won't do anything ever again.

He can't say with absolute certainty that one day, feeling desperate, he won't do anything stupid.

He hates lying about this, especially to Tony. But he hates making Tony worry about him—even more so. “I promise.”

Tony sees right through it. “…Lying again, I see.”

“Sorry.” What else did he think would happen?

"I understand. So I ask you this instead, Clay. Promise me, if you start feeling that way again... If—or _whenever_ you do, you'll tell someone. Me. Your parents. Anyone, I don’t care who it is. Just promise me.”

Clay exhales softly.

He used to think that he had nothing to lose. But now, Tony’s counting on him. Everybody’s counting on him. “Okay. I will.”

 He looks down at his arms, tracing his fingers over the white bandages. The wounds under there are still fairly raw, but they were healing, albeit slowly. It would take a lot of time to heal, and that was fine. Clay already accepted the fact that he may have scars forever.

 “…Clay?”

 

_Sorry, Hannah. I wasn’t able to save you. But I can at least try to save myself._

 

“I _promise_."

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

 

**The End**

**Author's Note:**

> This is the first real piece of fanfiction I have ever completed. Thank you so much for reading, please feel free to leave a review or critique! I've become so attached to this over the past few days, and it ended up basically writing itself at some points!
> 
> It's not over for Clay--he's not going to magically get better. Like he says, it will take him some time, and with support from those that he loves, he may finally one day be able to live for himself. I left the ending as hopeful as possible, but it's ultimately up to you to figure out where it ends, because it's obvious that Clay's still not 100% better yet, and maybe he never will be. 
> 
> If any of you reading this feels this way, know that you're never alone. This is cliche, but it has to get worse before it gets better, but somehow, it always will, no matter how bad it seems right now. 
> 
> If you have the time, I really would love to hear your thoughts. Much love <3
> 
> P.S. this is not the real ending. In the full version I originally wrote, it ends on a lot darker of a note. Let me know if you would like to see it--it doesn't really add too much, but it gives better context on where Clay's head is at by the end of the story. However, it's optional. Hit me up if you're interested! :)


End file.
